


Black Water

by Anonymous



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: (but he's working on it!), Abuse, Angst, Annie-Centric, AnnieNeedsAHug, AruAni, Big Sister Mikasa, Childhood Trauma, Dark, Dysfunctional Relationship, Emotional Abuse, Established Relationship, Eventual Smut, F/M, Female Friendships, Fluff, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, MIGHT introduce some praise KInk who knows, Manipulation, Physical Abuse, Slow Burn, Smut, background JeanKasa, but they're working on it, overprotective Hitch, self-hate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 12:29:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29153586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Oh, that girl. Just toss her something sweet and she’ll come right to you. Doesn’t even have to be food..."Water infected by an oil spill, black water as waste water, and treacherous water viewed at night in the dark are all black water not safe for humans. In addition, the further one dives into the ocean, the darker and blacker and more mysterious the water gets. "Black Water" should be helpful as most water is, but it isn't."- Clifford Stumme
Relationships: Armin Arlert/Annie Leonhart, Hitch Dreyse & Annie Leonhart, Mikasa Ackerman & Annie Leonhart
Comments: 40
Kudos: 151
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> -This was supposed to be a straight-up PWP oneshot. but it got interesting and now you have to wait like 20k for AruAni secc.
> 
> -New fandom and I'm being mean to the characters. Might take it off anonymous some day :\
> 
> -Also, no beta. We die like illiterate men!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How many times am I gonna say 'nor' in this?

“So let me get this straight,” Hitch starts, her naturally condescending voice taking on a friendlier hue. “Annie isn’t talking to you- No, she hasn’t talked to you in _three days_?”

“That’s correct,” Armin already regrets starting this conversation, but he was becoming desperate and it was starting to show.

“She’s angry with you?”

Armin nods.

“You must’ve really fucked up. Annie’s smitten with you,” Hitch chuckles, no longer looking at him. It takes her a moment to realize the severity of the situation. “What did you do?”

“Hitch…”

“Armin, I’m this close to taking sides and you don’t want me on Annie’s without hearing you out first.” 

He rubs his hands against the sides of his coffee mug, now cold but still mostly full. It doesn’t do much to help with his anxiety nor the stinging bite of cold at the tips of his fingers.

“I asked her to move in with me,” Armin sneaks a glance in Hitch’s direction, finding one of her eyebrows raised, urging him to continue. “Instead of living with her father.”

Saying it out loud, his doubts about being the wrong dwindle. He’s seen vivid memories of Mr Leonhart being a bad person and a terrible father that still haunt him in his sleep, and sometimes when he lets his mind wander in their direction. Snapping out of his thoughts, Hitch’s expression has turned puzzled, eyebrow furrowed, and mouth slightly agape.

“You can’t be serious," her face doesn’t even move when she says it. And he wants to laugh, it’s not like Hitch distorts her face into weird shapes often. But he still doesn’t feel as confident. “I feel like you’re not telling me the whole story. Otherwise, you sound like a straight-up pervert, Mr commander,” Hitch laughs, now more amused than worried. 

“Eh! But-” his face heats up at the implication. “It’s not- I wasn’t- I have two rooms. I was gonna offer her one!” He finally manages to string together a semi-decent sentence. 

Hitch still doesn’t look pleased with him. It might be funny to her, but she always takes the happiness and well-being of Annie seriously. She gives him a chance to calm down and get his words in order, to avoid another misunderstanding.

“Annie’s father, he’s…” he rakes his mind for the right word. While sure of his accusation, he’d already crossed a line with Annie that he doesn’t want to cross again, even if she’s not here to witness it. “Not a good person.”

At that, Hitch perks up, placing her near-empty cup of coffee on the edge of the bench, and folds her arms in front of her chest. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He probably should’ve started with this bit and saved himself the trouble.

“My, um... titan abilities came with the memories of their previous owner. He was a friend of Annie’s when they were kids. In his memories, I saw Mr Leonhart being bad to her.” Armin’s fingers tighten around his mug. He knows better than to use less polarized language with Hitch when it comes to Annie. She's handled dozens of violent criminals, she can do abusive dads.

But maybe it’s not his uncertainty nor concern for Annie’s feelings stopping him from being explicit with his concerns. If he says it, it’s akin to admitting to himself that he had left Annie alone with a man like for the three days now.

_Oh, god._

“Armin, I want to believe you,” Hitch’s arms fall back to her sides. “But during the short months Annie and I were roommates, the only person she mentioned missing was her father.”

He doesn’t doubt it, nor does he think Annie lied to her. He remembers how Annie was on the boat when she thought her father had died during the rumbling. Still, Armin knows what he's seen. 

“She looked so happy telling me the news, and I doubted myself back then, too. But Hitch, I have a bad feeling about Mr Leonhart,” he looks at her with pleading eyes, realizing his damning lack of evidence but still asking for trust.

Hitch seems to understand, eyes softening and shoulders dropping when she lets go of a long breath. “I’ve only said a few ‘hellos’ here and there but never really _met_ the guy. Tell you what, let’s go see them.”

“See them, as in...?”

“House visit! We can meet Mr Leonhart and you,” she drills a hole in his shoulder with her index finger “Can get your girlfriend back.”

“Ouch!” he rubs his shoulder.

“Talk to Annie. Clear up any misunderstanding and apologize. If I have to see you walking around headquarters absent-minded one more day I’ll lose whatever is left of my respect for you.” 

“Whatever’s left...? No, more importantly, I’m not really good with words. Neither is Annie.”

“Oh, please! Your reputation precedes you, Arlert. I’ve heard _at least_ half a dozen stories of how you saved the day just by talking.”

Armin groans, a mixture of embarrassment and frustrations. “I don’t wanna talk to Annie like that.”

“Like what?”

“You know, like _that_.”

“Ugh, just talk to her like you always do, dammit. Don’t you two like, talk about your feelings and stuff?” her voice goes back to being half sarcastic half condescending and Armin has to squeeze his eyes shut to shake his head.

If it was even possible, her mocking tone more than doubles. “What? Do you two just make out instead of saying how you feel?” she jokes and Armin feels actual, physical pain when he attempts to shake his head again. The long pause until Hitch realizes what’s going on hurts even more. “Oh, no.”

It finally becomes too much and Armin buries his face in his hands. “I’m sorry for being such a failure!”

“... I’m starting to doubt that ‘she’d get her own room’ story of yours.”

(*********)

That evening, Armin ditches his organized plan of working on the house and start cleaning and preparing the second bedroom. When his work became less demanding and he was given the option to live off-grounds, he jumped at the opportunity of living somewhere that didn’t remind him of his training and survey corps days.

That is until he started house hunting. Every house and apartment he looked at solidified the realization that he’d be starting anew. And not in a good way.

All the places he checked out felt eerily empty. Like something you’d warm up with a family portrait—or whatever they call those instant portraits- photographs! Yeah, those—or maybe something from your childhood, to fill the void and make it a little bit yours. Armin had none of those things. His only option was to start from scratch and build his own home. Of course, he can’t _build_ a house. He’s not that skilled nor does he has the time and energy.

What he settles on, instead, is an old, two-story, two-bedroom cottage at the edge of town. Rundown but not too out of shape to where he couldn’t move in right away. The faded walls and creaky floorboards tell stories he’ll never know. It was never his, but it still welcomed him, asking Armin to make it into a home.

More ‘proper’ houses were intimidating. They demanded perfection. Bright hopes of the future and a family with a history to live up to their image of what happiness is. But this small house accepted Armin as he is and asked for little in return.

Maybe, working on the house, one creaky floorboard, and one crooked windowsill at a time will make up for his lack of ‘homey’ possessions. It also has a small backyard. All dead soil and a dying plum tree. But that’s for another time. He’s never been big on farming or gardening, but the extra space is nice. 

Mikasa came back from a trip to what used to be the outskirts of wall Maria. Something about meeting up with new troops. She’s in a different division of the military, so he’s not entirely sure. But she came back this morning and accepted his invitation to come over for dinner and spend the night in a couple of days. Part of him is genuinely excited to see her. Another, slightly more selfish part, hopes her presence will make his house a step closer to becoming a home.

He works hard on cleaning the room and making it presentable because Mikasa is coming over and he doesn’t have much time tomorrow when he and Hitch go to see Annie. But he’s also working on its viciously _because_ tomorrow he’s going to see Annie and Mr Leonhart and he doesn’t want to overthink it and further ruin things between them.

(*********)

“Straighten up!” Hitch elbows him before knocking at the door.

“Sorry,” Armin murmurs and straightens his spine, the tin of sugary biscuits tucked securely in the fold of his arm. Annie and her father live right above Mr Leonhart’s workshop. As a skilled locksmith with decades of experience, he was able to secure a reputation for beautiful and durable locks and keys in town quite easily. 

When the door swings open, all the effort Armin spent regulating his breathing and calming himself jumps down the stairs and runs off. His throat tightens and the tin bends slightly when his arm flexes as Annie’s blue eyes move from Hitch to him, linger, then go back to his companion. “Hitch, Armin. What are you two doing here?”

“ _I_ came to visit. And this guy,” this time her elbow only nudges him, “brought you a peace offering.” she cocks her eyebrows in the direction of the tin of biscuits.

“Yes,” _and I really wanted to see you, Annie_. But, unfortunately, his tongue wraps in a knot around itself, stopping at the embarrassingly high ‘yes.’

Annie only glances at the sweet treat in his arms, hand tightening around the wood of the door. But she opens her mouth to say something “I-”

“Annie, who’s at the door?” An unfamiliar voice calls from the inside. Must be Mr Leonhart.

Whatever Annie was about to say dies in her throat, and is instead replaced with “It’s Hitch and Armin,” swinging the door open and stepping to the side.

“Sorry to intrude,” Hitch muses and Armin echoes her words under his breath.

It’s a house, alright. He doesn’t know what he expected, honestly. Of course, they’re living in a living space. His eyes skim over the space and he feels a bit jealous. This already looks and feels like a home people live in. He can only see traces of Annie in it when he squints, but she looks comfortable walking and maneuvering her way around the furniture and corners.

Mr Leonhart stands from his comfortable seat in an old-looking armchair and greets them, putting away the unfinished game of cards. “Hope you’re doing well, Hitch. They aren’t overworking you, are they?” He motions for them to sit before he does.

“Sorry to interrupt your little game,” Hitch says and takes a spot on the two-seat couch, glancing at Armin to sit next to her. “Work is work, Mr Leonhart. But things are a lot calmer during winter. Most people stay in their homes and out of trouble.”

“That’s good to hear,” he nods, sounding old and tired.

Armin feels stupid not having said anything and sitting with that _stupid_ tin—that’s supposed to be for Annie—awkwardly in his lap. Annie finishes closing all the windows before the crisp, late evening breeze turns cold and sits on the armchair to his right. She reaches out and takes the tin from his uncertain grip. The humiliation of being as awkward as a five-year-old disappears at the way Annie comfortably slips it out of his hands. Her movement isn’t aggressive nor spite-fueled, but like he’d brought her something sweet and she feels more than welcome to have some.

Still, her hands don’t touch his in the process and Armin spends the next few minutes when she goes to the kitchen thinking about it. 

“You must be Armin.”

Silence. _Oh, he’s talking to him now!_

“Yes!” he clears his throat and lowers his voice to a more appropriate level. “I am,” he tries not to focus on Annie’s distant doings in the kitchen. Not the splash of water and not the burner turning on, but his conversation right now.

“You two were Annie’s friends in training, weren’t you?”

“Ah, just me,” Armin doesn’t focus on the definition of ‘friends’ as Annie was pretty distant most of their training days. “She met Hitch after graduating and joining the military police. I joined a separate division.”

“I’m glad your friendship lasted. My dear Annie has always had a hard time getting people to like and befriend her.”

_Not true_. And he can see Hitch sharing his sentiment with the way she forces a smile.

Annie comes back with one biscuit in hand and settles back in her chair, legs pulled up. “It’s a good thing you came when you did. I was losing to Annie,” he says, referring to the deck of cards now neatly back in its box.

“Oh, I hope you didn’t have a bet going on. I have no intentions of reimbursing you, Annie.” Hitch teases and the corner of Annie’s lips quirks up. _Oh, finally._

“I know not to bet when playing Annie. She’s too good,” Mr Leonhart says and Annie drops the biscuit she was about to eat back to her lap, and smiles at the compliment, cheeks reddening.

“I’m just an intuitive player,” Annie says and bites half of the sugary treat.

“Learned from the best,” Mr Leonhart adds, his tone neutral but closing on gentle. “Do you two work together?” he returns the conversation to Hitch and Armin. And Annie looks more than happy eating her biscuit in peace.

“Not _together_ together, but close enough to where we meet regularly. Although, we do miss having Annie around." Hitch turns to her, “Have you decided what you want to do?”

Annie shakes her shoulders and swallows the remainder of the biscuit. “Not really," she slumps in her chair, head tilted back and looking up at the ceiling. “I didn’t even think I’d get to live this long. I don’t really have a plan.”

Hitch’s sigh is one of the softest he’s ever heard from her, and when she opens her mouth it’s to probably say something just as sweet-

“We agreed not to bring up this topic, Annie.” Mr Leonhart interrupts, voice heavy and strict.

Annie sits straighter in her chair, eyes not looking anywhere in particular. “We did, sorry.” 

Armin looks at Hitch, pleading with her to break the silence because he’s not sure he can say anything without further hurting Annie’s feelings. 

“It’s okay, Annie. Take your time,” Hitch says, which is probably not what she wanted to say before, but he hopes it’s enough.

Annie nods and says, “I’ll go make us some tea. The water is probably ready.”

Mr Leonhart waits until he hears the sound of the kitchen cupboards opening behind him before turning back to them. “I apologize for the heavy topic. Annie knows not to burden people with it, but she sometimes slips.”

“It’s fine with us. We already know and understand,” Armin finally says, mirroring Mr Leonhart and keeping his voice low so as it doesn’t reach Annie.

“Still, there’s time for everything and social gatherings aren't the right time, she should know better," Mr Leonhart says apologetically. The sound of glass pumping against glass alerts the three of them in the direction of the kitchen. “Annie?”

“It’s fine. I just almost dropped a cup,” Annie answers back, sounding as nonchalant as ever, either not having heard their conversation or simply choosing to ignore it.

“I’ll help.” Armin gets up and hurries to the kitchen before either Hitch or Mr Leonhart could say anything to stop him. It’s only a dozen steps from the living room to the kitchen, but they’re more than enough for him to think of all the possible outcomes. More bad than good ones.

Armin ends up helping her take down the teacups from the top shelf instead of having to stand on the tips of her toes and end up dropping one.

Annie still doesn’t say much. The kitchen is quiet except for Hitch holding up a conversation with Mr Leonhart in the living room and the low purring of the water nearing a boil in the kettle. Armin stands next to her as she organizes four teacups and a stack of small plates onto a metal tray.

“Annie, I’m…” his fingers clench against the cold surface of the counter but Annie doesn’t stop needlessly adjusting the cups into the perfect spot on the tray. “I’m sorry about the other day. I was being pushy and… it wasn’t my place to say what I said.”

“Armin,”

His heart seizes. He really missed the way she says his name with a soft ‘n’ sound.

“I don’t know what you’ve seen in Bertholdt’s memories, but I care about my father. He’s not perfect, but he’s my family.”

He wants to argue back but he can’t bring himself to. Annie sounds so desperate for understanding. For him to not make light of her words or how she feels.

“I understand," he was far from understanding what was going on inside Annie’s head, but he wanted to take the first step towards it.

She motions for him to hand her the small tin of dried tea leaves to his right, and she adds a generous scoop into the pot. “I’m glad you came, today. And Hitch.”

“You liked the biscuits?” he teases, feeling himself getting into more familiar territory.

Annie’s cheeks redden and _finally!_

“That, and…” she fumbles to close the container. “I wanted to see you,” she gives up on properly closing the lid and puts it aside.

Armin reaches out and engulfs one of her clenched hands in his, running his thumb over her knuckles.“I wanted to see you, too.”

Annie finally looks at him. Cheeks rosy and lips pouting.

_So four days_ _are his_ _limit now? Just how in the hell he survived four years is beyond him_.

Armin’s hand leaves hers to join his other around her middle, feeling up the soft and warm knit of her sweater. With little hesitation, Annie lets him pull her closer and press a kiss to her lips. Innocent, soft, and oh, so wonderful.

“Can I still come over?” her hands settle on his shoulders.

“You’re welcome anytime, Annie,” he kisses her again. And again, tasting her teeth when she smiles. And again after a breathless laugh. The kettle on the stove announces an end to their kisses with a high-pitched whistle. But Armin manages to sneak one last peck as Annie pushes him away to stop the assault on their ears and pour the tea.

The rest of the evening goes well. Hot tea warms them up and sweet biscuits contrast its bitter taste. Hitch makes sure to always steer the conversation in a pleasant direction right before it starts going south. Armin only ends up eating a couple of biscuits, slipping Annie the remainder of his portion when no one’s looking. She doesn’t complain or refuse.

Then, when the night is biting cold and the entire street is fast asleep except for a few bookworms and a couple of drunks, they stand up to say their goodbyes.

“This was a pleasant surprise,” Mr Leonhart says as he walks them to the door—a slight limp apparent in his stride—with Annie. “But please let us know beforehand. We’d love to have you for dinner, Annie has become a great cook," he pats her on the head and Annie bites back a smile at the praise.

Armin tries to find it in himself to like the man for Annie’s sake. But he settles on not hating him as much as he hates the images of him and younger Annie floating in his head.

“We will,” Hitch promises and he nods. “Take care.”

(*********)

“Well, he’s certainly not your perfect, fairy tale daddy, but I suppose he’s harmless and Annie seems to like him,” Hitch says when they’re a good distance from the house.

“I guess.”

“Besides, he’s a small man. She can beat up people three times his size,” Hitch adds, trying to comfort him.

They walk a little more in silence. When they turn a corner at the end of the street Hitch decides she’s done with the silence. “So, how did it go with Annie?”

“It was… good.”

“Good?”

“Yeah.”

“Armin, I saw you two making out and had to distract her father to save your ass,” Hitch teases, skipping a few steps ahead of him.

“We weren’t _making out!_ We only kissed a couple of times!” Armin wants to be thankful for the darkness hiding his embarrassingly red face, but he knows Hitch knows. 

“You know ‘a couple’ means two, right? I counted five,” she shoves her hand with five extended fingers in his face.

Armin opts to not reply. He was done embarrassing himself for one day.

“I’m assuming the biscuits helped?” She shoves her hands in her pocket when a cold breeze crashes into them head-on.

“A bit, yeah.”

“Oh, that girl. Just toss her something sweet and she’ll come right to you. Doesn’t even have to be food,” Hitch sighs.

Armin tries not to ponder too much over the meaning of Hitch’s words when they split up to go home for the night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided it'd be best to sit down and include as many tags as I could think of. So if there's something in this story that's a big 'no-no' you can ditch it early on.

When Annie wakes up, she’s more disoriented than usual. She knows she’s overslept but her eyes refuse to open more than the width of a hair. She _did_ stay up late the night before, but not because Armin and Hitch overstayed. No, they left at a reasonable hour. It’s just her who couldn’t sleep.

After groaning into her pillow at least three times and telling herself to get up five, Annie does. She pulls open the curtains and further blinds herself with the sun that’s way too high in the sky for her liking. With a jacket on, she drags her feet to the bathroom. Maybe a splash of cold water can miraculously wake her up. It doesn’t. She settles for some coffee. _Yuck!_

She knows she’s up early by most people’s standards, but hearing people in the neighboring homes preparing for their day reminds her she’s wrong. With her usual date absent again, at least she doesn’t have to rush or think of an apology. Annie slips into a pair of thick, practical pants and a forever, dirt-stained hoodie, both too worn out from training but fit just right around her moving muscles.

Her father wakes up just as she’s unlocking the door, which is rare, but means she gets to say ‘good morning’ when he first wakes up instead of later in the day.

“Good morning, Father."

“Morning, Annie,” he pauses, taking her posture by the door. “You’re leaving?”

“Training.”

“... You still do that?” he pushes his thinning hair out of his eyes. “You don’t have to, you know.”

“I do, but it’s familiar. I like it, ” Annie shrugs and gets her attention back to the door, preparing to leave. This type of conversation always ends up with both of them being uncomfortable.

“Is your friend back?”

“She’s back, but it’ll be just me today,” Annie opens the door and half steps out. “There’s some hot water in the kettle, help yourself,” she says and goes to close the door.

“Annie.”

She wants to pretend not to have heard him, but she hesitated and paused whilst closing the door, so he knows she heard him. “Yes,” she peeks back in.

“I’m just looking out for you,” he says, gaze dropping to the floor but looking distant.

“I know,” Annie hurries down the stairs. This time she runs instead of walking or jogging. She feels guilty dismissing him like that. Annie knows he doesn’t like it when she trains often. It reminds him of the days when he wasn’t as good of a father to her. He’s changed and he's trying to be a better father everyday. Yet she’s still stuck in her old self, where if she doesn’t train for a day, she gets restless and jumpy.

While she lives closer to the center of their small town, Annie can make it to the woods surrounding it in thirty minutes. Less if she’s using her newly-discovered alleyways and even less when she’s running.

When she gets to the clearing of grass between the last few houses and the woods, she skips the spot where she and Mikasa usually train and goes right into the treeline. Without a partner to combat, Annie prefers hitting unmoving, solid objects until her muscles burn and she drops—which has been happening way sooner without her regenerative abilities. Mikasa rarely fights her in the woods, calling it inconvenient, especially if they’re not using the trees to hide or attack. But today, Annie is alone, so she goes wherever she likes. It's also a bit warmer among the trees. Their sturdy barks and thick canopies take most of the wind.

She forces herself to stop and stretch before she begins. Just because she ignored something as important before sprinting here, doesn’t mean she should skip it for the heavier stuff, unless she wants to pull a muscle.

With her muscles relaxed and ready, she picks her still opponents: three trees growing in close proximity. They make for a good simulation of being surrounded by three opponents bigger and sturdier than her.

She focuses and lands her first back kick against one of the trees' bark, hearing the wood compress. In her chamber position, she drops, turns, and punches the opposite tree.

_Ah, she forgot to wrap her knuckles. Fuck._

But she can’t stop now. Annie tells herself it’s the adrenaline of this mock fight. It’s because of a primitive part of her brain that craves violence. Not the feeling at the back of her mind that if she stops, there’s a thick twig waiting to land on her behind.

Annie ignores the pain in her knuckles, merely sparing them a glance to confirm her doubts that they’re smeared with blood before she whip kicks the first tree in the same spot. This time, bits of the bark splinter.

“Stop you’re hurting it!”

Annie pauses before her heel makes contact with the third tree, and turns for the source of the noise.

“Excuse me?” Annie pulls her leg back to her body before dropping it to the ground.

“I said you’re hurting it. The tree. It has feelings, you know,” says a girl who couldn’t be much older than her. But then again, Annie’s body is stuck at fifteen, she’s probably got a year’s—two tops—worth of growth left, which makes the girl a couple of years younger than Annie.

“It’s a tree. Wood,” Annie deadpans.

“It’s alive,” the girl argues.

“It’s a tree,” Annie repeats.

“A _living_ tree.” 

She gives up. “Fine,” and breaks her fighting stance into a normal one.

“Thank you,” the girl says, having caught her breath, and takes a couple of steps towards Annie. She adjusts the shawl around her shoulders and drops her empty straw basket to offer her hand. “Bernadette.”

“Annie.” 

“You beat trees often?” her bright smile ensures Annie that she’s joking and isn’t trying to turn this into a fight that Annie’s sure to win.

“No, I usually beat up my friend, but she’s not here today,” Annie goes to sit down on an old stump. All the adrenaline left her body shaken.

"Why? Do you hate her?"

"No...we train," _this girl can't be serious_.

"Why do you train?"

"To become stronger," Annie replies as a matter of fact. 

"Why do you want to become stronger?" she swings her feet from side to side.

Annie's already becoming fed up, but she rolls with it. "To protect myself."

"From what?"

She sighs loudly through her nose. "You ask a lot of questions." Annie takes to examining her bloodied knuckles, estimating how long it'd take them to heal. _She's still not used to this._

"I do?" she looks surprised as if she didn't even expect this.

"That's also a question."

"Oh, sorry." The girl seals her lips together as she looks around, feet going back to doing those random steps in the dirt.

“So… I should expect to see you here often or what?” Bernadette emphasizes with a cheeky smile. Literally. She has the roundest cheeks Annie has ever seen.

“I guess not.”

“Shame. You look like a cool person,” she puffs her cheeks.

“I was just beating up your dear trees.” 

“Yeah, but you said sorry,” she shrugs.

“I didn’t,” Annie traces back their conversation and confirms that she hadn’t apologized.

“You _insinuated_ an apology,” Bernadette stresses. 

“I guess,” Annie stares straight ahead. She never fares well with people like her. Far too sweet.

“Well, miss Annie. I need to get going,” she adjusts her shawl and threads her arm through the handle of her basket. “meet again?” she offers her hand again.

Just how in the hell can some people manage to be this friendly to strangers when Annie struggles to be half as comfortable with her friends. “I won’t promise,” but she takes her hand nonetheless.

After Bernadette goes on her way, Annie’s too tired to continue on practicing now that her body has settled in after the rush and decides to head home.

So, it’s going to be another one of _those_ days. 

(*********)

It takes her thirty minutes to get home, now that she’s walking and isn’t taking any shortcuts, which are much harder to do with people awake and bustling. She greets her father in his workshop before going up to their house. Annie showers, washing off dirt and sweat, before slipping into something more appropriate.

Although often boring, Annie finds comfort in the mundane. She’d always envied people who got to do it every day. Even back then, she knew they were boring, but something about doing a simple task that you can’t get wrong was comforting. And that’s what she tells herself as she does the dishes, washing the pot, cups, and plates they used last night when Hitch and Armin came over.

Cleaning is a bit more enjoyable, she gets to be active and move furniture around. Swapping a side table with a chair for a change of scenery, trying to imprint on her living place.

It’s the same when she goes shopping in the afternoon. Annie used to like thinking that people whizzing by were just as lost as her, but taking it one day at a time. Now, she’s not so sure.

It doesn’t take her long to get the fresh produce and bread they need for dinner—she could make stew tonight. She drops them off and heads to the local library just as the sun starts to dip, hopeful the librarian would’ve learned not to be as nosy. 

When she gets in, the tiny bell rings once and the young librarian looks in her direction though she adamantly avoids his eyes and starts her usual journey between the long rows of books, looking for one that piques her interest. Annie tries not to be as envious of the people who walk in and almost immediately pick out a book, then take it home or stay until the library closes.

“Can I help you with something?” the librarian asks, and this time, Annie doesn’t feel like dismissing him. After all, he’d let her loiter here for weeks now without complaining. “A book maybe?”

“An interesting book sounds nice,” Annie makes sure to keep her voice just above a whisper.

“I'm afraid interest is subjective,” he scratches the back of his head. “What _do_ you like?”

“I don’t know,” she avoids his look of confusion. “I’m trying to find out.”

“If that’s the case then pick a random book. If it intrigues you, read more. If it doesn’t, put it back and pick something else,” he waves with a friendly hand and smiles as he goes to tend to the kid waiting by the front desk.

_Pick something random, huh?_

And Annie does, pick something random. It turns out to be a book about engineering. The most boring thirty minutes of her life pass with her reading and rereading passages when she loses her spot.

_That’s a ‘put it back’ book._

(*********)

Cooking is nice. Annie thinks she had found the limit to how much she could enjoy it, but it’s stopping her from going mad and the result is delicious food. So, why not?

She ends up making stew for dinner, which finishes cooking at just the time her father closes up shop and returns home.

“Something smells good,” he says as he takes off his coat and thick work gloves, flexing his hand.

“Vegetable stew,” Annie answers from the kitchen. “It’ll be ready in less than five minutes.” Her stomach growls as she sets up the table for two. Her breakfast/lunch wasn’t as sufficient as her appetite earlier in the day had promised.

“How was your day,” he asks from his room.

“A bit on the boring side, but otherwise good,” she sets the still-boiling pot of stew on the table and heads back for the fresh loaf of bread she’d picked up. “I met someone earlier today.”

“Is that so? Was he nice?”

“ _She_ was nice,” _which is an understatement._

Annie finally sits down and inhales the rich scent of their dinner. “Didn’t get to find out much about her, though. But she looked like she was out picking mushrooms or something.”

“She’s your age?” he goes to close the open windows before joining her at the table.

“Something like that,” she saws a generous piece of bread and puts it next to his still-empty bowl. “Bernadette.”

“That’s good. Really good.” Her father does look pleased, and she realizes she’d just solved a part of the puzzle of why people go around their busy days. It’s for moments like this.

“You’re finally making friends,” he finishes ladling his bowl full. 

Annie frowns, confused as he reaches to hand her the ladle. “I already have friends.”

“I meant new ones- What happened to your hand?” he exclaims when he notices the fresh scabs on her knuckles. 

“Oh, that,” she drops the ladle into the pot as she examines her hand that is healing at a normal rate. “I forgot my hand wrap today and ended up punching some trees. But anyway, why do I need new friends?”

“ _Because_ Annie,” he gets up hurriedly from his chair and heads to the drawer by the door where they keep their first aid supplies. “It’s been _months_ and you still can't get over your old life. You need other friends, _new_ friends, who won’t tie you to your past.”

He kneels by her chair and takes her injured hand, tsking when he notices that both her hands were scraped. Although she’d cleaned them well during her shower, she doesn’t protest when he dabs them with rubbing alcohol and gauze. They’d healed a bit and didn't hurt anymore. “My friends have all been nothing but supportive, I just need time-”

“How much longer, Annie?” he stands up, voice raising a notch, the gauze slipping to the floor after only making one loop around her knuckles. “I have done everything in my power to change and give you the life you deserve, but you’re still going out there, every single day, and coming home bruised.”

“Father, I-”

“Is it because of me? Do you hate me, Annie?” he violently tugs at his chest with both hands.

“What? No, I-” she stands up, sensing the urgency of the situation.

“Are you doing this to punish me?” he’s now yelling, and a part of her is thankful the windows are shut. An additional barrier between her constantly crumbling life and the world.

“Just calm down,” she can’t look him in the eyes but she put both hands reassuringly on his shoulders.

“I told you I was sorry. I want a new life for the _two of us_. Why won’t you let me have it?” she pulls her hands away when she gets the urge to dig her fingers into something and doesn’t want it to be his shoulders.

Annie doesn’t understand because she wants the same things he does. Yet, they always end up like this.

“Father, just stop,” she looks away from him and the kitchen table. The aroma of the stew that watered her mouth seconds prior is now making her nauseous.

“Annie, if I’m doing something wrong, tell me,” he now begs.

Annie doesn’t want to, but her brain goes through everything he’d ever done wrong. She doesn’t want to judge him for anything but the person he is _now_. But the images keep coming.

"Why are you blaming me for what _you_ did to me, Father,” she tries her best to steady her voice, and she almost succeeds if not for the quiver that plagues it.

“I apologized for that, Annie.”

“Maybe an apology isn’t enough!” her voice breaks out of her throat a shout, and for a second there she thinks she got her own ear to ring and cheek to hurt, not her father’s hand that was just tending to her injured ones.

“I’m not proud of what I did to you, but you can’t expect me to change the past,” he sounds angry, but Annie doesn’t look at him to see his face, she just stumbles. One foot at a time until they coordinate and take her out the door. He calls after her but his hand barely grazes her hoodie, and dashing down the stairs puts enough distance between them because of his bad leg.

 _The one she gave him_.

And Annie runs. She’s not sure where she’s going but she runs until her lungs burn and her breathing can't keep up. When she notices that it’s not late at night nor early in the morning and people are still out in the street, Annie ducks into one alleyway after the next until she’s in an area no one has seen her run like she’s being chased.

There, in the dark, narrow passage between two buildings, Annie sits down and catches her breath, giving her mind a chance to figure things out. A tentative hand reaches for her right cheek. She probes the area and it feels hot and numb and _painful_.

A part of her tells her she should’ve avoided it. That she’s more than capable of doing so, but she had to have her guard down.

Well, of course, she had her guard down. Annie was at _home_ with her _father_.

She presses two fingers to the bruising skin just below her eye and wills herself to hate him. To be angry with him. To go back home and give this pain back ten folds. But… she’s as rough around the edges as he is. They’ve both been through a lot. If she can’t forgive him for making a mistake in the spur of the moment, can she still expect him to forgive her when she inevitably makes one?

Annie drops her head to the brick wall behind her and lets her hair fall to cover one eye, and breathes. Annie chokes on three silent sobs before she finally wills them down and the cold air dries the tears that were threatening to fall.

It starts to rain and Annie thinks she should just go home. She’s not sure how far she’d ran or in which part of town she’s now, but after saying it four times in her head, Annie pushes herself up and off, ignoring the way her soaked hoodie sticks to her back and makes her shiver.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Sorry for all the coffee lovers (including myself) this Annie doesn't like coffee.  
> \- And sorry to all engineering nerds, you're cool!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- ... I know I said no smut until 20k but consider this a late Valentine's day gift. Cats can have little a salami. 
> 
> \- I haven't written smut in a hot minute and I forgot how hard but also fun it is!

Stepping out of the dark alleyway, Annie makes sure no one sees her. She’s just a pedestrian who got caught in the rain and trying to make their way back home. She pulls her hood up and shoves her hands into the front pocket, relishing in the remaining spot of dry fabric that warms her hands.

Annie wanders around, one street at a time, looking to identify a shop, building, or a tree to pinpoint her location. It doesn’t take her long. After all, she’s been roaming the same streets for months now in her free time. Her treacherous legs had taken her towards the edge of town. And not the side she usually trains at, but closer to where Armin lives.

She wants to go. _She’s welcome there, right?_

But Annie knows she can’t. It wouldn’t be fair. Not to her father, painting him in such a negative light after a single mistake. And not to Armin. He’s been trying his best to start a new life away from all the sorrow and violence of his older one. Annie refuses to be the link to a bleaker past.

One of her hands leaves the minuscule warmth of her hoodie and travels to her face, touching the cheek hidden beneath a curtain of wet hair. Without her healing abilities, this would take at least a week to fade. She can’t avoid Armin, Hitch, or even Mikasa for that long without raising doubt. But that’s for another time. Now, it’s time to get away from this side of town before she’s tempted to seek comfort in Armin instead of doing the right thing: going _home_ to her _family_ and making things right.

She pulls the drawstring of her hood tighter and shoves her hand back into her now completely-soaked front pocket, and walks in the opposite direction.

She decides on taking a turn that would take her through a narrow, side-road, where the buildings would hopefully shield her from the worst of the downpour. Speeding up, because it’s _too fucking cold_ , Annie almost bumps into someone.

She’s not in the mood for proper manners, but the last thing she wants right now is to start a fight with a cold and wet drunk who probably just got kicked out of a bar.

“Sorry,” she says, keeps her head down, and side-steps to walk past the person.

“Annie!”

 _Well, fuck_.

Annie looks up to meet eyes with Mikasa. Surprised but all dry and warm under an umbrella.

“What are you doing here?” She immediately steps closer, including Annie in her little circle of dryness. Annie angles her head just so, letting more hair fall over one side of her face, but otherwise, doesn’t walk away from under the umbrella. _  
_

“I was on my way to see Armin.” Not a lie.

“.… No, _I’m_ on my way to see him. You were heading in the opposite direction,” Mikasa states.

“It started raining out of nowhere. I was heading back home to dry up and get an umbrella.” Not _entirely_ a lie.

“Well, you can share mine. Let’s go.” She doesn’t wait for Annie’s response when she starts walking them where Annie shouldn’t really go. “If you stay for longer in the rain you could get sick.”

Annie doesn’t want to. By some miracle of darkness, rain, and long hair, Mikasa hasn’t noticed her battered face. But refusing would be suspicious in of itself. She’d certainly tell Armin about bumping into her when she sees him. In short, Annie is stuck with two of the most perceptive people she knows, and she couldn’t play it dumb anymore.

They end up sharing a quiet walk to Armin’s house, allowing Annie some time to conjure up a new plan. Which is much easier said than done, not with her shivering and Mikasa’s occasional glance at her unkempt hair.

Eventually, Annie settles on the weak excuse of a plan of washing up as soon as she gets there because she’s cold. Then she’d immediately to go sleep because she’s also tired. She’d leave early in the morning, before the sun rises, leaving them a note with a lame excuse she needs to think about tonight.

Normally, Annie would go over the details looking for things to improve, but they’ve already reached their destination. Mikasa adjusts the strap of the messenger bag on her shoulder and knocks on the door.

“Mikasa?” Armin’s voice comes back muffled. “It’s open. Come in!”

When Mikasa opens the door, Annie lets herself be engulfed by the gust of warm air that welcomes them, distracting her from the fact that she’d just lost two of the elements that kept her secret hidden; the rain and the darkness of the streets, and soon she’d be losing the element of having wet and out-of-place hair.

“You’re just in time. Dinner should be ready in a-” Armin pauses on his way out of the kitchen when he spots her. His bright smiles falter for a fraction of a second before it comes back two-folds accompanied by surprise. “Annie! What are you doing here? And you’re completely soaked!”

“You said I was welcome anytime,” Annie shrugs, paying close attention from the corner of her eye as Mikasa walks into the living room and drops her bag on the couch, her gaze returning to Annie.

“You are,” he finally takes off his silly apron and runs upstairs. “Hang tight. I’ll get you a towel.”

Annie breathes in relief when Armin disappears up the stairs. She’s made it so far, but it won’t last-

“Annie, show me your face,” Mikasa says from her spot across the room.

“You’ve seen my face a million times, Ackerman,” she replies, sounding disinterested.

Mikasa doesn’t object or push, but she also doesn’t look away. Annie isn’t foolish enough to think her keen training partner would leave it at that. Panic wells within her as she considers her options.

“Armin, can you take a look at Annie’s face?” Mikasa says and Annie hasn’t noticed Armin coming back down with a towel in hand. She glares at Mikasa with her good eye, but her target doesn’t flinch or look away. Then again, Mikasa has never fallen for any of Annie’s acts of toughness.

“Face?” Armin drapes the towel over his shoulder as he walks towards her. This is her chance to brush him off. To call them both ridiculous, snatch the towel, and go look for the bathroom.

She almost does, but it’s as if she’d forgotten how touchy feely Armin has become with her. His hand cups the back of her head, thumb resting just under her ear, listening to her pulse. She yells at her muscles to move, but his other hand pushes her hair out of her face. Annie gets a front-row seat to the way Armin’s expression turns from slightly confused to horrified. And while she doesn’t quite catch the change, Mikasa looks livid but remains put.

“Annie, what happened?”

 _Nothing_ happened and she really needs to push him away for being… for being rude and getting all up in her space and touching her without even asking, and-

The fingers that just brushed her hair away move to stroke the skin just under the blossoming bruise and Annie almost moves with his touch. His hands so gentle unlike- _No!_ She stops the thought midway. She can’t judge a person solely based on their worst moments. Otherwise, what would that make _her?_

“I got a new training partner after Mikasa left. They landed a hit.”

Armin doesn’t look like he believes her and Mikasa crosses her arms in front of her chest. “I’d like to meet this ridiculously strong partner of yours one day, Annie.”

_Is there a point in arguing when they all know she’s blatantly lying?_

“Annie,” Armin’s voice drops, and instinctively Annie braces herself for his grip at the back of her head to tighten. It doesn’t.

She finally snaps out of it and shoves him off. “I didn’t come here to be interrogated. If that’s how it’s going to be I’ll just go” _home_ , but she doesn’t finish the sentence nor does she make it more than a step towards the door before Armin grabs her wrist, tugging her back. He pulls the towel from his shoulder and drapes it over her head.

“I’ll run you a bath.” Although Armin avoids her eyes when he goes back up the stairs, she sees a blend of frustration, disappointment, and something else that she doesn't recognize. It scares her, not knowing what’s going on through his head.

When Armin’s is out of sight—and probably earshot, as well—Mikasa opens her mouth to say something only to get interrupted by the sound of something over boiling in the kitchen. She rushes towards it with an annoyed tsk, giving Annie just enough time to run upstairs after Armin.

(*********)

Annie doesn’t wait to warm herself up before chucking off her clothes and submerging herself into the hot water. The sharp contrast in temperature makes her skin sting, but she pushes through until the water reaches her chin.

She’d barely adjusted to the heat when a knock sounds on the door.

“Annie, it’s me,” Mikasa says before cracking open the door, keeping as much of the bathroom’s warmth in. “You can wear these,” she drops a neatly-folded pile of clothes on the sink by the door. “And don’t be long. Dinner will be ready soon,” then closes the door.

She wants to yell out after Mikasa, telling her that she won’t be joining them. A part of Annie just wants to soak in this bath until it’s cold, then cocoon herself in the thickest blanket she could get her hands on till morning. But she’d barely eaten anything since morning, and the temptation of a hot meal gets her moving. She hastily washed her hair. Not really to clean it, but to replace the cold wetness of the rain with the warmth of her bath.

A few minutes later, out of the water, body dry and hair damp, Annie stares at her blurry reflection in the fogged-up mirror. She can see some discoloration on the right side of her face, just under her eye and along her temple. Reaching out and wiping a stripe of condensed water puts Armin and Mikasa’s reactions into perspective. The bruise is still bright red with just the earliest signs of turning blue. But it looks more severe than it seems and it’ll likely get way worse in a couple of days.

Slipping on the clothes Mikasa provided, she’s not sure whether they’re hers or Armin’s. Either way, they’re too big for her. Annie all but drowns in the sweater and has to pull considerably on the drawstring of the pants to secure it around her waist with a tight knot. Picking up a hairbrush from the sink, she acknowledges the lone strand of her stuck to it, short and a shade darker than hers, but it runs smoothly through her hair nonetheless.

After dinner, which was as good as it smelled, but ended up being too quiet, Annie sits on the couch as Armin does the dishes in the kitchen. Mikasa soon slips into the seat next to her, rummaging through her bag.

“Turn this way,” Mikasa says, now holding a small glass container in hand, her bag on her floor by her feet.

“What’s that?” she looks her way but doesn’t turn her body.

“Salve, to help with the bruising.”

“Do you just carry that around?” Annie chuckles and goes back to her starring contest with the coffee table.

“I’m staying the night here and I was planning on training with you tomorrow,” she explains herself and proceeds to open the vial.

“Either way I’m good. Don’t need it,” Annie dismisses her.

“If it’s not me, Armin will end up doing it,” Mikasa states, as a matter of fact, confident that she convinced her. And she did. Mostly because she doesn’t want Armin worrying even more and she knows she won’t be able to say no to him if he asks.

“fine.” Annie angles her body in Mikasa’s direction and pushes her hair out of her face. Mikasa schools her expression as she applies the salve, tapping gently with her finger tips. Annie’s face hurts a little less when Mikasa is done.

Before Annie pulls away, she reaches down and takes one of Annie’s hands up to her face, “And this, what happened?”

“I punched a tree this morning.” Annie pulls her hand back. “I already took care of it.”

Mikasa seems pleased enough with her answer and put the container away. “Will you be sleeping with me tonight?”

“Don’t want to. I’ll sleep here,” she says and pats the couch they’re sitting on, both for emphasis and to gauge its comfort level.

“Then you sleep on the bed. I’ll take the couch.”

“Don’t make me laugh, you don’t even fit on this thing.” Annie slumps down and drops her head back with a tired sigh.

“That’s for me to decide-”

“Actually,” Armin interrupts, drying his hands by the kitchen door. “I’d prefer it if you sleep with me tonight, Annie.” He still doesn’t meet her eyes or look directly at her.

_If this is his weird way of making her feel guilty-_

Mikasa pats her twice on the head before Annie can swat her hand away.

(*********)

In Armin’s room on the second floor, Annie settles comfortably in his bed but her eyes follow him as he goes around the room, locking the window and shutting the drapes.

Annie was always thankful that Armin often opts for physical contact over words. It made things much easier for her. She doesn’t have to stumble for the right words to express how she feels when she could just kiss him. But now, instead of comforting, Armin’s silence is heavy and stifling.

She knows he’s angry with how things are. Maybe with her. Definitely with her father. But he doesn’t say much as not to upset her. Knowing him, Armin’s probably thinking of what to say when they can’t avoid the topic anymore.

Still, Annie waits. But when he sits on the edge of the bed and reaches for the oil lantern on the bedside table to extinguish the flame Annie speaks, “Good night.”

He pauses and looks at her over his shoulder. Forgoing the lantern, he turns to Annie, one elbow supports most of his weight next to her head as he leans down and presses a long kiss to her forehead.

“Good night,” he says, barely louder than a whisper, then goes back to his earlier task.

" _Say_ something,” Annie pleads, pulling the blanket an inch higher over her face. She’s not sure what she’s hiding from but it makes her feel a bit safer.

Once again, his hand falls away from the lantern and settles on his thigh. With an exhausted sigh his back slumps, “I don’t know what you want me to say, Annie.”

With enough courage, Annie peels the warm blanket off and sits up, reaching a hand to his shoulder. “Just… _anything._ I... I don’t like this.”

Annie knows she’s being unreasonable. Anything Armin would say would result in nothing short of a fight. And while she’s desperate for something, this possibility scares her more.

After what feels like an eternity of silence Armin turns to her and climbs onto the bed, leaving the light burning low. Annie pulls her knees closer to her chest as he settles by her feet. Now close enough, he reaches out to caress her hair, studying her face in the faint glow. “You look tired,” he keeps his voice low and gentle.

Annie’s only reply is a long sigh, dropping her face onto her knees. Shuffling closer, he circles his arms around her from the side, resting his head on her shoulder, and Annie clings to his arms.

“Would you like me to take care of you?” he whispers, not far from her ear.

_Take care of her? But Mikasa has already treated her-_

One of his hands drops to her hip and he breathes her in, mouth and nose buried into her shoulder.

_Oh... Oh!_

Annie feels heat rise to her face and every point of contact between them tingles.

“You don’t… have to,” Annie manages, but he’s already moving to lean against the headboard, pulling her with him. She settles sideways on his thigh, arm draping over his shoulder for support, while the one he had on her hip doesn’t leave it.

“That’s not what I asked,” he whispers into her hair, then proceeds to tuck the hair she’s been using to hide half her face behind one ear. For a split second, Annie catches a glimpse of something dark that dances in his irises before getting devoured by a familiar fire that frequented her daydreams.

“I thought you wanted to wait. Since we rushed our first time.”

“We are,” he says, his free hand crawling up her thigh at a snail’s pace and Annie locks her leg muscles as not to squirm, which only partially works. “I’m just taking care of you. That’s all.”

When she doesn’t object he leans in to kiss her, head tilting so his lips could slide _just right_ against hers. The hand on her thigh starts moving down its curve to where her other leg presses against it, he slips his fingers in between them and silently motions her to part her legs.

Annie does, and the tortuously slow movement of his hand towards her crotch continues. His long fingers brush dangerously close to her core before withdrawing back to her thigh, fingers kneading and massaging the flesh and muscles that line it.

 _Fuck. He barely touched her but she's already uncomfortably wet._ She hopes the pants are his and not Mikasa's because if they are, there’s no way in _hell_ she’s getting them back.

At a small sigh that leaves her lips parted, Armin licks into her mouth, tasting her tongue in the process. Then, without warning—or maybe there was a warning but she was preoccupied with trying to meet his tongue in her mouth with her own to notice—his palm cups her through her pants and she startles with a gasp, her thighs closing around his wrist.

Armin breaks the kiss, but only by the width of a breath. “Annie,” he says, hand escaping the death grip of her crotch and slides back to the middle of her thigh, grips it, and pries her legs open before resuming to trace the outline of her cunt with slow, teasing fingers.

Annie gives up on trying to stay quiet. She instead focuses on not being too loud by digging her fingers into something, which end being Armin’s shirt and bedsheets.

After a quick peck to her parted lips, Armin kisses the corner of her mouth, then trials kisses over her jawline and to her ear where he suckles on her earlobe and plays it between his teeth, all whilst his fingers split her open through the material that was getting progressively more soaked.

“Mmm…” Annie flinches and whines when one of his fingers presses against her, from her the bottom of her opening to her clit. She’s not sure for how long he’s been touching her. But she’s hot. _Burning_. Armin apparently remembers every small detail from their last encounter.

The sweater that was cozy moments ago now sticks to her skin in all the wrong ways and she squirms, but the hand resting on her side gets to work holding her hips in place. And if that wasn’t maddening enough, he shifts his attention to her neck, intentionally biting down on her inhales, causing them to break into tiny, repeating sobs.

“Armin,” she whines and _fuck_ does she sound needy. But it doesn’t matter right now. She can’t bring herself to be embarrassed around him—only afterwards—and she’d say his name over and over, sounding as needy and as desperate as needed if it means he’d touch her more.

But Armin seems to have read her mind, saving her future nights of flustered humiliation. His little kisses migrate as low as he can on her neck, nuzzling into the neck opening of her shirt, _his shirt?_ Then up, forcing her to tilt her head back as he mouths at her throat, and Annie feels dizzy when his name crawls out of her mouth but a shaky whimper.

“Ngh…” she moans in frustration when his hand and mouth leave her simultaneously. Instead of relief at the chance of catching her breath, everywhere he _could_ be touching feels like molten lava.

Armin straightens his back to full length, nuzzling into her hair, trailing kisses from ear to crown. Just as Annie goes to complain that she needs more than gentle touches after all that he’s been doing, his free hand drops to her lap and pulls at the knot holding her pants around her waist.

A tug. Two. Then a harsher one when Armin looks down at the adamantly offensive piece of string. “Annie, what sort of knot is this?”

She looks down and _ah, fuck_. Her rush in getting dressed has come back to bite her. Or to cockblock her, in more accurate terms. “Sorry, I did it at random. I needed them to stay up.”

After a few more futile attempts, Armin pulls his other hand from around her to join his other. Annie leans back on shaky arms, giving him more room to work on ridding her of her pants.

She watches closely as his frustration unwinds in tandem with the stubborn knot.

"There,” Armin says triumphantly to himself. He doesn’t wait. Both hands beeline to the waistband and slide the pants down her legs. From her angle, Annie sees how a considerable amount of her wetness stained the crotch and it doesn’t make any sense because she feels pretty fucking wet.

“It’s kind of my fault, too. I didn’t have anything smaller.”

_Oh, they’re his. Thank fuck!_

Annie goes to drop on her back. She feels too lightheaded to push herself back up and she would rather feel Armin all over her instead of just next to her.

As they're now, he's...conveniently out of comfortable reach so she wouldn’t distract him. She should’ve known he thought their position through. But before she could sink into the mattress that smells like him, his arm snakes around her torso and lifts her back onto his lap, where she doesn’t bother closing her legs and resists rubbing her thighs together for some relief.

One of the many things she loves about Armin is that he knows when to be gentle and soft, both in words and demeanor. He also knows when not to be. Two of his fingers enter her to the knuckles. Annie inhales sharply, eyes widening and body standing on end at the sudden stretch. His long fingers reach in deep. Deeper than hers have ever gotten, no matter how hard she tried to recreate the feeling of having him inside her.

It doesn’t hurt one bit, but Armin waits nonetheless, brilliant blue eyes watch her closely as she regains part of her composure. As her impatient breaths melt into shorter, softer gasps, Annie takes the opportunity to rake her fingers through his hair, smoothing over his undercut, letting the freshly-cut hair tickle her palms. She leans forward and kisses him, holding his head in place to keep the kiss soft and sweet.

“Annie, show me,” he says against her lips, the rasp in his voice revealing just how much he’s enjoying picking her apart.

“Eh?” she pulls away, looking for a different meaning in his eyes.

“Show me how you want it.” How he manages to say something so lewd so innocently and why it causes her inner muscles to flutter around his fingers is beyond her.

“You already know how,” she tries. Annie isn’t sure she wants him to know more ways to make her feel good just yet. Especially when she’s already a wreck. And oh, there’s another person in this house whom Annie would rather _never_ know how she sounds begging.

“Yeah, but I wanna do better,” he pouts.

Apprehensively, Annie decides to go along with it before she dies of sexual frustration or tempt him into exploring on his own. He might end up finding more than one thing about her, and she’s convinced she has a better chance holding back if it’s something she’s familiar with rather than unknown territory.

She closes her eyes reaching down. And while she can feel his eyes following the trajectory of her hand down her stomach, she pretends Armin isn’t _really_ here. She pretends he’s in her head like he always is when she pleasures herself. But it’s significantly harder to play make-believe with two fingers that aren't hers, stretching her open.

Annie gives up on trying to relax her muscles and moans softly as one of her fingers slips inside, further stretching her and sliding along his own. She opens her eyes and takes a deep breath to anchor herself.

“You don’t need to go in and out much. On the inside is good,” she instructs, focusing on anything but his gaze. “Here,” she emphasizes by curling her finger along his in the direction she knows feels good.

“Here?” he asks and curls both fingers, pressing hard against her front wall.

“Yeah,” Annie jumps, her voice higher in pitch than she’d like to admit. “Right there,” she breathes, as she pulls her finger out, joining her other hand in clutching at his shirt.

She thought she could make it, but from his angle, he’s hitting _that_ spot straight on, more firmly than Annie manages on her own with her hand bent and fingers short. She goes to move her hips a bit out of range of feeling too good, but his free hand goes back to the dishonorable task of holding her where _he_ wants her to be. At least he lets her nuzzle into his shoulder, muffling her voice in his shirt as gasps turn into little moans that follow the rhythm of his fingers.

“Ahnn!” she yelps at a particularly hard jab and hums as the shockwave of pleasure subsides. “Armin,” she whines.

At one point, and through the fog that clouds her thoughts, her labored breathing seizes, guilt wraps around her lungs like a vice and _pulls_. She feels her body closing up, shying away from the pleasure Armin was building up inside her with every thrust, curl, and swipe of his thumb.

With panic, her thoughts run wild. They always do. They poke around at how she lashed out at her father when he did nothing but look out for her the entire time. How he’s probably worried sick because she disappeared into the winter night. And if that wasn’t enough, she feels guilt surfacing from low in her stomach, making her sick at how she’d gotten Armin involved in her crap, lied to his face, shoved him, yelled at him, then proceeded to ruin his night with Mikasa, only to seek comfort and pleasure from his touch.

The heavy fog even manages to twist and disturb her newfound mantra of not judging a person solely by their bad action. It smears it with the thought that has been infesting the back of her head for months: _but what if that’s all there is?_

She fights against the climax that pulls in her lower abdomen and tingles in her toes and fingertips. Aside from a single _pathetic_ sob that ribs out of her throat, Annie presses her lips together and focuses on not letting a single sound escape the confines of her throat. She’d suffocate herself if she has to.

“Annie,” Armin calls and she ignores him as if that will make him not notice or go away.

“Annie, stay with me,” he says again and she tries to turn away when he kisses her, tongue tasting her own and she doesn’t understand how he’s not repulsed by the bitter taste of guilt in her mouth.

She breaks the kiss with a violent sob that shakes her entire body and frantically shakes her head.

“Breathe, Annie. Focus on my voice,” he whispers in her ear when she faces away from him. His fingers don’t stop, but every move becomes more intentional, precisely calculated, pressing against that spot inside of her instead of hitting it with his finger tips, and that’s enough to break her vow of silence, but far from freeing her mind from the disorienting fog.

Armin ends up whispering a shitton of sweet nonsense into her ear. Holding her close, rubbing circles against the small of her back as his other hand maintains her pleasure but doesn’t overwhelm her with it.

After what feels like an eternity of suffering and pleasure that leave her breathless and spent, the pressure in her chest eases. She returns to his eyes, seeking the grounding comfort they always seem to provide.

“Are you okay?” he asks, pushing misplaced hair out of her face.

She nods, holding the sides of his face with trembling hands, she leans forward and Armin meets her midway in a soft kiss. Keeping it slow, Annie pulls away with her bottom lip snug between his teeth.

“A-Armin.” As much as she’d like to kiss him till sunrise, her cunt throbs when a wave of pleasure tumbles up her spine, making her shiver. “Can you…?”

She looks at him with pleading eyes from under light-colored lashes. A knowing smile tugs at the corner of his lips and he sprinkles kisses from her forehead to the tip of her nose.

When his fingers resume, Annie arches her back and curls her toes, already so sensitive but still hungry for just one release. Without the assistance of his other hand, Armin doubles down, curling his fingers harshly and pressing his thumb right on her clit, pulling the skin around it in lazy circles.

Annie jerks and her voice comes in a broken whine, so close but so exhausted it hurts. She tries to focus on the movement of his fingers, the way every brush and inexperienced thrust makes her shiver.

“Come on, Annie,” he goes to whisper in her ear, voice low but oh, so mischievous. “It’s just me. It’s okay.”

The next thing she knows, all of her breaths are laced with moans but they completely die down when she falls, like they always do. His fingers ease up but don’t stop, letting her ride the waves of her climax until she’s clenching around his fingers and her voice returns in little whimpers from overstimulation.

Armin holds her tightly to his chest when she collapses against him. Fighting her climax has made it stronger in a bad way, leaving her weak and trembling with a blurry vision. Laying her down, he leaves her for long enough to turn off the oil lantern on the nightstand, drowning the room into complete darkness.

When he holds her, he lets her rest her head on his shoulder and tucks her forehead into his neck. She wants to ask him to take care of him, too, but she doubts she has it in her to muster up a decent grip and Armin intentionally angles his hips away from her. Annie only manages to tell herself to do it a couple more times before she drifts off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- next chapter back to Armin's POV.
> 
> \- I promise themes and different relationship dynamics will make more sense in upcoming chapters.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I should've just stuck with good 'l flashbacks instead of this grammar nightmare. Well, never again!!!
> 
> \- The fic is still Annie-centric but I can't avoid our best boy's issues and guilt.

Sitting across the table from Mikasa as the sun starts drifting towards the west solidifies for Armin that there’s no getting out of this. He knew he’d eventually slip up and that a conversation like this was inevitable, but that didn’t make it any less dreadful. His hands clench into fists against the wood of the table, head down to avoid his childhood friend’s eyes, but the scowl on his face says it all.

“You say you know, but you’re not acting like you do,” Mikasa scolds, voice stern but not barren of kindness that had been there since she was little.

Armin doesn’t reply, further dropping his head. As much as he considers Mikasa his confidant, now really isn’t the time. As they speak Annie is going back home with her father. He’s failing yet again. He’d already been worried sick when he first woke up, his hands seeking but finding nothing but empty bedding. Not even a hint of warmth remaining. His ribs had shied in on themselves, crushing his heart and lungs in the process. Hours later, he can still feel the muscles sore, constricting his breathing.

“I didn’t want Annie to get hurt again.” He hates how small his voice is. What he’s saying isn’t something to be ashamed of. Not to mention, he’s talking to _Mikasa_ , she knows the weight of what they're talking about, how conflicted it makes him feel, both directly and indirectly. 

“Keep going and you’ll end up hurting her, too. Just in a different way,” she says and she’s right. The sound of reason in his head had said the same thing, panicked and pleading as Armin ignored it and went forth with the lie.

What Mikasa doesn’t say outright but implies with simple words and a directed look: he’ll hurt her in a _worse_ way.

Annie doesn't really mind physical violence. She never sought it to sate an urge, she accepted it as a part of life. He hates to admit or think about it, but being raised with the sole purpose of becoming one of the few ‘lucky’ kids to be chosen as warriors for Marley meant that violence and pain were woven intrinsically into the fabric of her very existence.

It wasn’t the fear of blossoming bruises and aching bones that made Annie come to him last night. She was, and still is, one of the physically strongest people he’d ever known. Annie was seeking refuge from what hurts her thoroughly.

“I’m… aware,” Armin admits. Another statement that daunts him.

When he and Annie had decided on pursuing an intimate relationship with one another, he was more than prepared for what it meant. He knew that welcoming Annie into his life meant welcoming all the lurking demons of an abusive childhood as well. He didn’t mind. He acknowledged them with open arms and patience and compassion. Every outburst at the smallest of things because she didn’t exhaust herself training that morning or her eyes going deathly focused on a pile of ants devouring a bug alive were parts of Annie that he accepted. 

But just like Annie downplays most of her struggles and chooses to suffer in silence whenever she could slip for her friend's grasp, Armin doesn’t confront his less apparent traits either. Those treacherous ones would put immense strain on their relationship until it snaps. If Annie’s outbursts were downpours that would flood the river every now and then, his were an underlying crack in the dam. One day, it’ll all collapse.

“Then _why?_ ” Mikasa stresses. She forces him to come face to face with his darkest thoughts, reaching out to coax his hand into relaxation in the process.

‘ _Why?_ ’ Mikasa of all people should know why.

In his guilt-infested panic, it'd taken him a minute to notice the two of them sparring in his backyard. At that moment, looking outside his window, he’d felt fourteen again, waking up early to sneak in an hour or so of reading, only to catch a glimpse of Mikasa and Annie engaging in combat. Back then, he knew of Mikasa’s self-appointed responsibility of needing to be strong to keep him and Eren safe, but he wasn’t aware of Annie’s.

He wasn't aware of how with every tip-toed step she took before a kick and every breath she let out afterward she was carrying an immense burden on her shoulders. One that was manifesting itself to this day with how she threw her kicks and punches with pride. Every dodge was a confidence-boost because if all she was is a warrior, she was going to be the best to ever fight.

But that wasn’t what he’d seen this morning. He’d rushed down the stairs and threw open the backdoor because he _needed_ to see her up close. To see her face as she averted one of Mikasa’s attacks after the next. He’d wanted to call out for them that _for the love of everything good left in this world they haven’t even had breakfast yet!_ He couldn’t. Annie nimble and light on the tips of her toes avoiding incoming punches wasn’t proud. The one thing that used to brighten her daily ritual was gone, replaced with uncertainty and self-loathing.

“She’d had arguments with her father before. But this one seemed to have affected her differently. You noticed, too,” Armin says, his hand laying limb in hers, having exhausted its muscles. “I didn’t want her to go back.”

“Then why didn’t you tell her to stay?”

“I can't!” He yells in frustration and yanks his hand from Mikasa’s to join his other in pulling at his hair before falling in defeat to his lap.

“Annie’s would’ve listened to you.”

_Would she? If he’d said the right thing, the right way, at the right time, would she have stayed with him from the start?_

Earlier, when he’d convinced them to call it a draw and come inside for some breakfast he found himself slipping into an illusion. With Annie present in his line of vision, Armin had felt the muscles in his chest relaxing. She’s not a morning person. That he’s sure of. But she always does it. Wakes up as early as a hungry baby bird to train, rarely missing a day. He had known that about her, he just had never had the chance of witnessing it firsthand.

Still, he'd selfishly pushed it all away and enjoyed it. Ignored the evident traces of heaviness in the kitchen, the apparent bruise on Annie’s cheek, and her clothes drying against a chair by the fireplace. For a moment, they had been eating breakfast and he allowed himself to imagine that this was his life. An average morning with the people he calls family, instead of alone or with soldiers he barely knew at the canteen.

He’d wanted to sink so far into that fantasy and never wake. But anything longer than a delusional glance at his surroundings was enough to snap him back into reality. The food was a little bland because he’d forgotten to buy more salt, he was cold because he was still wearing his nightshirt, and Annie was still black and blue and all three were his fault.

“I guess she would’ve,” he says in defeat, accepting the bitter realization that he’d been unreliable when Annie needed him to be.

“Don’t… say it like that,” Mikasa says, voice small and shoulders tense.

“Like what?”

“Like it’s your fault Annie left with her father or that she got hurt in the first place.”

“But it kind feels like it,” Armin shrugs, as if this accusation wasn’t the reason he barely slept last night.

“I’m sure Annie doesn’t agree,” Mikasa tries to reassure him. 

“Annie and I disagree on a lot of things,” he justifies, still trapped in the quicksand of his guilt and blame, where resistance would only make him sink deeper and faster.

They do, but their disagreements never presented an issue. They were always a source for an interesting conversation. A gained perspective of the world and a profound understanding of one another. Until they disagreed about her father.

He knows that Annie views her relationship with Mr Leonhart completely differently from how he, Mikasa, and Hitch do. It’s as if Annie had a single pair of rose-colored glasses and she only used them to look at her father.

He doesn’t know much about Hitch’s past, but she mentions her parents in the passing. Still, the three of them had once what resembled a good relationship with their parent-figure. His grandfather cared for him, and there was Mr and Mrs Yeager, for both him and Mikasa. 

Annie… hadn't. And from what he gathered, the other warrior children that surrounded her, their parents—except for Pieck’s—all encouraged them to go to war. As far as she knew, parents using their kids for gain was the status quo.

While he’d been internally panicking and blaming himself for everything as they ate breakfast, Mikasa was the one to break the silence of nothing but muted chewing and clacking utensils.

“What’re you going to do about Hitch? You know she’s overprotective of you,” Mikasa had asked.

Annie had shrugged, not even looking up from her plate. “She shouldn’t be.”

“Yeah, but she is. You can’t just avoid her until your face heals.”

“I know,” Annie had said.

After a moment of silence, because Mikasa never pushes Annie or asks more than once, Armin had stepped in. “Just be careful of how you approach it. Otherwise, Hitch won’t leave your father alone.”

For a moment there, Armin had thought he’d spoken into the void. One that welcomed his words, echoed, and remembered them but never responded.

“I never said it was my father,” Annie’s fingernails had moved to pick on her slice of bread instead of the grainy wood of the table, her tone a poor mimicry of her usual nonchalance.

“But it was, wasn’t it?”

“Was it that easy to figure out?” Annie had asked, lips pressing in a straight line to avoid a downwards curve.

The way her whole body had spoken, shoulders dropped and voice defeated spelled it out for him. While Annie was intentionally focusing most of her attention on the good rather than the bad in her relationship with her father, she was expecting everyone else to be doing the same. But having her make-shift rosy glasses broken and her perception of reality so abruptly challenged made her defensive last night, and today, doubtful.

“If it were anyone else you wouldn’t have hesitated to say so,” Mikasa had intervened, nudging Annie back into a more trusted reality.

“I guess.” Annie hadn’t said much about the topic after that, focusing instead on finishing her plate and helping with the dishes.

“Armin, you… know Annie has been coming over to me whenever it’s gotten tense with her father?" Mikasa says, getting at it from a different angle.

“Yeah, I know. It’s because you, somehow, manage to not freak out. Unlike me or Hitch.” It’s always been a bit frustrating. He’s genuinely happy for their closeness. Still, he can’t help feeling a little disappointed in himself that he can't be reliable in every way Annie needs him to be.

“She doesn’t look at everything as a problem to solve. Not like you do. Sometimes she just-" Mikasa shrugs, adorning a sympathetic smile. “Wants a place to get away from the bad things until they no longer hurt without someone asking her a dozen questions or waiting on her hand and foot.”

“Mm-hmm,” he nods. Regardless, he’s glad Annie doesn’t have to be alone when she’s upset, but always has a shoulder to lean on.

He just wishes her father’s would be permanently excluded from the list of potential shoulders.

Not long before this conversation with Mikasa, Armin had been in his room, changing into a more weather-appropriate shirt when Annie had nudged the cracked door open, carrying her dry clothes.

“Is something the matter?” he’d asked, straightening his shirt. 

“No, I just wanted to change back. It’s a miracle I haven’t tripped yet.” She points to the hem of the pants dragging past her feet.

“Yeah, of course.” He’d went to leave the room when she gripped his hand just as he’d walked past her.

“Can I ask you a question?” She hadn't turned to face him, nor had she pull him back into the room. Instead, the fingers of her other hand sunk deeper into the pile of clothes.

“Yes?”

She’d let go of his wrist and went to sit on his bed, dropping her change of clothes on the mattress beside her. He’d ended up sitting next to her when a long moment had passed without her talking.

“Is it bad that I want my father to be worried about me right now?”

“N-No, why would you think that?” 

“Because," her fingers had dug deep into the blanket, mimicking the wrinkle forming between her eyebrows. “Being worried feels terrible. Why would I wish something like that upon him?”

“Worrying isn’t always a bad thing to feel,” he’d said, trying his best to consider how Annie had been feeling and not the context behind the question.

“I made you worry last night. It didn’t make me feel any less terrible.”

 _That’s different_ , he’d wanted to say. But to Annie, they were two sides of the same coin. She’d made people she cared about feel bad.

“I find that… it sometimes feels nice when people worry about you.”

“I don’t.”

Back then, he’d held back from saying what was burning at the tip of his tongue, opting to not responding at all, pulling her to him, resting her head against his shoulder, instead.

“You realize you're gonna have to tell her what happened. It’d be best if she hears it from you,” Mikasa says. Leave it to Mikasa to always return to the main point no matter how far she strays in a conversation.

“I’ll… find the right time and place.”

After he’d left Annie to change back into her own clothes in his room, Armin had been preoccupied with making himself and Mikasa some coffee because it was barely noon and it’d already been a day, when there came a knock at the door.

It wasn’t long after Mikasa had offered to get it before she called for him.

Armin had hated facing Mr Leonhart at the door, but it also made him realize that he didn’t hate the man as much as he hated himself for letting him near Annie in the first place. While Mr Leonhart was explaining Annie’s situation, all thoughts of rationality and reason had abandoned his brain. He had one goal and one goal only; keeping Annie away from this man at all costs.

“Annie’s not here, but I’m sure she’s fine,” he’d said, not letting Mr Leonhart finish his sentence.

“I see,” it had irritated him to the core how remorseful the man appeared because Armin could tell he was honest.

“We’ll make sure to find her,” he’d added, moving to close the door, ignoring Mikasa’s sharp warning in the shape of his name.

He hadn’t needed Mikasa’s input to know that what he had done was wrong. He’d been yelling at himself internally as he uttered the words, one lie after the next. A rarely-present part of himself had told him that this was a smaller issue for another time. As long as he didn’t make the same mistake again and Annie-

“What are you two doing?” Had come Annie’s voice from behind them before her head popped up from over Mikasa’s shoulder, eyes widening when meeting her father’s.

“Annie!” the older man had all but yelled, pushing his way between Armin and Mikasa, not sparing them a second glance. He’d wrapped his arms around Annie’s shoulders and held her close, just like a father would when they find their runaway child.

“Father,” Annie had been taken aback, overwhelmed, as she had looked to Mikasa and Armin like she didn't know what to do before reciprocating the hug.

“Thank goodness you’re okay,” Mr Leonhart had said, moving his hand to cup her face, thumb touching eerily close to the bruise, where Armin knows the seemingly-unharmed skin hurts, but Annie hadn’t flinched nor complained. “I was so worried.”

At that, and the child-like glee and wonder in her eyes as she looked at her father made Armin look away, relying on Mikasa to keep an eye on their reunion.

He’d failed yet again. This time, sacrificing Annie’s trust in the process.

It was instantaneously after bidding them farewell and closing the door that Mikasa had dragged him by the arm to the kitchen table, told him to sit, and proceeded to take the chair opposite to him.

“Just don’t wait too long,” she stresses.

“I won’t.”

“I mean it, _Armin_. Don’t be another source of pain for Annie.”

“ _I won’t_.”

_Phrasing it like that…_

_(*********)_

Armin is… not sure how the rest of the day passes. One moment he’s playing cards with Mikasa—and winning—the next, he’s recalling how small Annie felt in his arms the night before. How warm her breaths had been through his shirt, and how a small voice would vibrate at the base of her throat every time her bruised cheek made contact with anything, be it the blanket or him before she unconsciously shifts away.

At the door, when the moon peeks from between the clouds, Mikasa hugs him. One long arm wraps around his shoulder, neck bending so she can press her cheek to the side of his head. Armin has officially lost all hope of ever outgrowing Mikasa, or becoming as tall as her, for that matter.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself,” she says, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly as she pulls away. 

Armin has had enough lying for one day, so he only smiles. If Mikasa notices his aversion, she doesn't say.

“Say hello to Jean for me.”

“I will. And you Hitch.” She adjusts the strap of her bag on her shoulder and waves as she walks away, umbrella in hand, closed.

“Noted.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Next chapter Annie's POV


End file.
